


Unearthed

by taichara



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 02:57:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: An unexpected discovery in the aftermath of war.





	Unearthed

Seliph was tired of it all -- the blood, the terror in the eyes of people who had no choice but to fight him and his comrades (and their own army, he reminded himself sternly; they had long since dragged too many foolish volunteers of their own into this madness), the hollow faces, the pleas for parley that fell so often on deaf ears. He was tired, and heartsick, and only the unshakeable belief that those horrors would someday truly end had kept him moving through it all.

Worse, and much to his horrified surprise, it _didn't_ end when the battles did.

How much worse than the bloodshed of the battlefield was the necessity of touring each captured fortress and castle, seeing the carnage and the pain with his own eyes; and then, that not being enough, he needed time and again to descend into dungeons and catacombs to see what -- to see _who_ \-- might await.

It was often harrowing, and horrifying, and Seliph refused to turn away and let someone else take his place.

And then there was this.

Deep beneath Berhara's donjon, Seliph stared through the thin slits in a heavy oaken door. So much effort, to contain one man? But why? 

The cell's occupant half sat, half sprawled on the narrow (but clean; a mercy Seliph was grateful for on the wight's behalf) pallet, arms crooked on knees; shackled, of course, but Seliph expected no less. What Seliph could make out through worn and threadbare clothing and the less than ideal view showed him a lean and wiry frame, raw in the bones, perhaps the same age, roughly, as his own father would have been. Strong, narrow hands. With his head bowed, unkempt hair fell around shoulders gone rawboned in his captivity and grazed the pallet, deeply emerald where it wasn't patched in shocks of startling white … colours that struck Seliph as deeply odd, until he took in the scarring mottling a forearm, tightening tendons in one hand. 

But, other than the scarring, there was not a thing that seemed unusual about the man, so, why …? Hadn't they accounted for anyone that the Emperor -- or Julius -- might have kept alive? Who was this? But it didn't matter, did it. What mattered was setting this all to rights. 

Ignoring Ares' grumble of protest behind him, Seliph -- after a few fumbles -- found the proper key on the heavy ring and pushed the door open carefully. The cell's occupant jerked his head up, startled out of whatever reveries held him, and stared back at Seliph with wary, haunted eyes.

"You … You could almost look like …" 

Croaking, rough with disuse, the man's voice managed to still be clear enough to be understood. Clear enough for Seliph to pick out the unmistakable timbre of a Jungby accent. Stranger and stranger. Stepping slowly closer, and silently hoping that Ares would have the sense to wait in the hallway, he held a hand out to the man, lifting the keyring high with the other to show his intent.

"You're free, now. If you'll allow me, I can remove those chains?"

"I … Why? But, my thanks …"

He sounded confused; Seliph waited patiently. It was not the first time a dungeon's prisoner had reacted with confusion, and worse, to being offered unexpected freedom. He just needed to be patient, and indeed the wight before him looked like he was wrestling with some internal debate, rubbing at scars along cheek and jaw fitfully before --

"… Does -- Jungby Castle stand, and its … its …"

The hoarse words -- strained, desperate -- stumbled to a halt, the man looking away as if to hide in his hair -- but to hide what? Shame? Some percieved weakness? It was understandable to fear his homeland's seat fallen or worse, so what was it -- or, what had his captors told him, done to him.

"Jungby's free now as well. I swear it."

A tiny cry, choked off like the man feared giving voice to it; perhaps he had good reason. Seliph, very gently, with infinite patience, eased closer, then -- ever watching for a start of fear, a twitch of pain -- took a scarred and sinewy wrist in his own hand and worked the stiffened lockworks of the manacle open with practiced skill. There had been so many, in so many different places.

Calluses on the man's fingers drew his attention as he worked. Old, barely noticeable, but still present; not sword calluses, not an axeman either. Lance would have toughened the palm as well … 

He flushed furiously at the sudden, quiet sound of inquiry from the subject of his curiosity.

"Ah --! Beg pardon, I was just wondering -- You fought once, sir …?"

The response was slow in coming, hesitant, coloured by something Seliph didn't quite fathom.

"… A … long time ago. Years ago.

"I'm no 'sir', either, young lord, whoever you are …"

Tired; he sounded so tired. Seliph's heart ached. Well, at least he could show courtesy and ask the poor man his name, have the healers see to his needs and let him find some rest for at least the night …

Before Seliph opened his mouth to speak, a shadow fell over them both.

"Seliph, we need to deal with more than just --"

Every nerve and tendon in the man seemed to tense at once, nearly jerking the shackles from Seliph's hands.

"Seliph? Then -- wait -- then you _are_ \--"

The man pulled away and staggered from his pallet -- far too quickly; his legs, still chained, gave out and he crumpled backwards once again even as Seliph reached out to catch him. But he didn't seem to care, staring past Seliph at the black-maned apparition who stood warningly in the doorway --

"… Shannan? That can't be you …?"

The swordmaster started, his tactiturn mask cracked instantly by hearing his name such an unlikely place -- and then he _also_ stared in slack-jawed disbelief, and Seliph felt very confused indeed.

And then -- to Seliph's utter shock -- Shannan lunged into the cramped cell and caught the poor man up in a fierce and bone-crushing embrace.

"It _is_ you, after all this --!

"Midir, Lady Edain's alive -- she fled to Isaach with us -- and she'll be _overjoyed_ to see you. Come --!"


End file.
